The Black Moth
by Baron Munchausen
Summary: FOR ANDITH FEST 2016! Just a little exploration of Anthony and Edith's marriage after a successful wedding in S3E3...
1. Chapter 1

**_Dedicated to Lady Tarlea_**

* * *

As Anthony walked into the Library, he saw Edith quickly stop reading and hide the book underneath the cushions on the sofa beside her.

"Good book?" he asked, slightly off his guard.

"Oh, nothing really." She gave every impression of a small girl discovered by her father in the act of looking at scandalous writings. _He was the age of her father…_

"Oh. Er, well…coming to bed, darling?" he asked, all his polite upbringing taking over, since he didn't know what else to think, let alone what to say.

"Yes…yes." Her answer was too bright, too easy.

And that was all it took; Anthony immediately worried. She had never deliberately hidden anything from him before in the year and a bit that they had been married…at least, nothing that he knew of.

As he prepared for bed, he tried to shake the uncomfortable feeling away from his mind. _It's just a book_ he told himself… _but what book_? _And why didn't she want me to know?_

He couldn't stop himself going downstairs in his dressing-gown on the pretext to Stewart (and to himself) of finding something to read…which was true really, he thought bitterly. He found the book easily…and it was _The Black Moth_ by someone called Georgette Heyer. Flicking through the pages, he found that it was just a love story. Why would Edith not want him to know she was reading a romance? Unless…unless… _unless she's tiring of me…I knew it would happen, eventually…I bore her…I don't provide her with enough excitement or…or passion…or fulfilment..._

He slowly climbed the stairs up to their bedroom, heavy with anxiety and dread, thinking _I mustn't let this fester. I must ask her about it like a reasonable man._ But when he got there, Edith had already gone to sleep.

* * *

…

 _He took so much longer than usual to undress…he must have gone downstairs…I'm sure he saw…I've worried him…but I can't tell him, he'll blame himself…please let me not have spoiled everything…he's coming in…I can't face him now. I'll pretend I'm asleep, and deal with this in the morning…_

* * *

…

But in the morning, it all seemed so much more difficult to address, for both of them.

Anthony looked up from his copy of _The Times_ often, but never had the right words. _What about..._ _"Good morning, darling. I see you're reading The Black Moth. Would it help if I dressed as a highwayman and rescued you from leering Dukes before ravishing you?" Ha! That would be really something if I could manage THAT with one arm!"_ He felt ridiculous enough as it was, being so upset over his wife's reading matter and feeling jealous of a book, without making a prize ass of himself accusing her of something he had no evidence for.

Edith, who had never taken her breakfast in bed, preferring to join her husband downstairs, was quiet and withdrawn. The longer Anthony stayed silent, the less she felt confident talking to him. What if he disapproved of her reading the book? No, he wouldn't do that. Surely she knew him well enough by now to know that he was very liberal and progressive in his views. But it was obvious to her that something about last night's episode had bothered him. Did he think she was lowering her standards reading Miss Heyer? She wasn't Jane Austen, but she wasn't bad. She was forging a new, original path, her prose was good, and the story was compelling. Anyway, this was her first novel, published only a few months ago. Anthony might have read reviews of the book, but Edith was almost totally sure that he would not have had a chance to read _The Black Moth_. So what had upset him so? She really didn't dare think. She was just so sad that they had lost the ease between them that had existed since their marriage.

Then it struck her why she had been reading romance fiction in the first place, why she had been embarrassed when Anthony saw her doing so…there had been a friendly, loving ease between them, but not the intimacy that she craved. She wanted Anthony to know her inside out, as Jack knew Diana in the book. She wanted him to open up to her so she could know him just as well…and most of all, she wanted Anthony to be able to express to her all the love and adoration that she saw in his eyes, and she realised that, due to his Victorian upbringing and, yes, his age, he may never be comfortable doing that. And that made her sad. His arm…the age gap…none of that mattered to her, if only they could find a way to love each other _completely_.

* * *

…

 _More tomorrow..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Er...it's still 'tomorrow' isn't it? Sorry for the delay. Normal service has been resumed. Happy Andith Fest everyone!_

* * *

.

Anthony went into the village after coffee. He looked all through the small selection of books the Post Office had on sale, but found nothing. The library was out of the question: too many nosy matrons. He instructed Stewart to drive him on into Ripon, where he did find a copy. They were back at Locksley before luncheon, which proved to be as quiet as breakfast. With the brown paper covered package in the pocket of his tweed jacket, Anthony retreated into his library in the afternoon, while Edith went upstairs to her day room, where she had established a separate study for when she wanted some solitude. There she finished reading the book that she had been eagerly devouring all morning.

Jack Carstares, Earl of Wyncham, Miss Heyer's protagonist, was a perfect, superhuman, two-dimensional hunk of a man. Edith mused that if she had met him in real life, she would think him a little bit silly with his strict notions of honour, and his self-sacrifice, dressing up in silly clothes to play the part of a highwayman, despite his...despite his...er...wounded...arm…

Well the highwayman thing didn't fit, unless you believed in the Socialist principle that all property was theft, like her Irish brother-in-law! But otherwise...white tie and tails counted as fancy dress, didn't they? To any normal person they did. And in every other quality...he was Anthony.

Except that he wasn't. Anthony wouldn't talk to her about his past, his time at Cambridge for instance, or his travels around the Continent. It was almost as though he wanted to keep every part of himself apart from her except for Locksley and Yorkshire, the here and now. Nor did he hold her to him, panting with desire. He didn't give her the impression that she compelled him to desperate acts of love, or that she drove him out of his mind with desire. He was always gentle, reverential, adoring…repressed, proper, and courteous. And she loved that he was always a gentleman, she really did. It was wonderful that she could lean on him, rely on him to protect her and defend her against her family, and the world. She'd never had a champion like that before. It was just that she wanted to feel that Anthony defended her because he wanted to, not because he felt he had to.

* * *

…

Anthony closed the book and sighed. It was almost time to go up to change for dinner. If he didn't go up, Stewart would come looking for him. He put the slim volume into one of his desk drawers and closed it, before stretching out the aches of reading a book from cover to cover in the space of an afternoon sitting in the same position. He wandered over to the big picture windows looking out on the orchards, and saw only empty years ahead, both for her and for himself.

Why was she so keen to keep the fact that she was reading this book from him? He'd gone through possibility after possibility, always arriving back at the same conclusion. Edith needed some excitement in her life…in her love-life.

"Well, dammit" he exclaimed in frustration to the books on the shelves, "then she shall have excitement in her love-life! I will provide her with what she needs, or die trying!" With determination he went to find Stewart.

* * *

…

Stewart had just finished laying out his master's evening wear, when the gentleman in question burst in through the dressing-room door with an energy and purpose the gentleman's gentleman had only seen once or twice in his career at Locksley.

"Stewart, forgive me for asking, and I'm ashamed to realise that I've never asked before, but have you ever been married?"

Stewart was a professional. The only indication of his surprise was one raised eyebrow. "I am glad to say that I have avoided the happy estate, Sir."

Anthony deflated. "Oh." _Who the hell can I ask now?_

"May I enquire as to why you wished to know, Sir?"

"I need some advice…about…about women's needs." Anthony had not really thought this through. Now that he was here and trying to talk about it, even with Stewart who was more of a brother than a servant, he was beginning to blush a deep scarlet, and finding words had become more difficult than usual.

"Women's needs, Sir?" Stewart was actually beginning to enjoy this. He had wondered how long it would take for the Strallans, the happiest couple in Yorkshire, to outgrow the honeymoon period, and have to begin working at their relationship, and it had taken longer than the majority of people of any class. For the moment, though, he indulged in a little teasing.

"Is Lady Strallan unhappy concerning her dress allowance, Sir?" Stewart's deadpan face fooled Anthony, as it always did.

"Er…no. That doesn't seem to be the problem, Stewart…and if I don't get this right, I fear I will lose her."

Anthony looked stricken, lost and forlorn now despite his recent determination to make Edith happy, simply because he didn't know how to achieve Edith's happiness. Stewart stopped ribbing his master, and became serious.

"I may not have been married, Sir, but I believe I know what you mean…"

...


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later, Stewart and Anthony sat in the stalls of York's cinema. At Stewart's suggestion, they were watching a silent film called _The Sheik_ starring someone named Rudolph Valentino. Half-way through the film Anthony turned to Stewart and whispered incredulously "Are you _sure_ that women like this sort of thing?"

"Look around you, Sir" Stewart shrugged.

A brief glance confirmed what Anthony had suspected ever since they had arrived: they were the only two men in the audience. Anthony was far out of his depth, and felt as though he was sinking ever further. Around them ladies of all ages were glued to the screen, some sighing, a few weeping, all of them utterly spellbound by the Italian actor's smouldering, flashing eyes and ardent love-making.

"Hmm" said Anthony, disconcerted.

* * *

…

The next day Anthony's new book arrived. He withdrew to the Library, as usual, smiling nervously at his wife, who smiled sadly back as she climbed the stairs to her room.

At lunch, though, Anthony was a changed man. He asked courteously, but with real interest, what Edith had done that morning.

"Oh, nothing much." She looked down at her plate and her cheeks reddened a couple of shades.

"I'm sure that's not true, my dearest. You have so many interests, and you are an expert in the majority of them. It is always a pleasure to hear you talk of them."

Edith gave him a watery smile but at least it was an honest one. He felt the pride of achieving a bit of progress however minor.

"If you do not wish to discuss it, that it your prerogative, my love. But if you ever do want to tell me about your activities, please know that I would be very interested…and privileged. Indeed, at some time this week, could I ask you to look over the crop plans for next year? I would value your opinion."

She nodded, and went back to her food. He smiled to himself. In fact he couldn't stop smiling. Perhaps this new book really was right. He couldn't wait to get back to it after luncheon.

* * *

…

Edith had been staring over her desk, out the window, towards the fields around Locksley, for far too long distracted from her endeavours. The pieces of paper, covered in her small, neat handwriting were spread all over the desk, the chairs around her, and covered most of the floor of her day room, and she would have written a lot more by now if she had concentrated instead of pondering Anthony's words at lunch. They shouldn't have surprised her. He'd asked her advice before on occasion. He'd asked after her pastimes as well. But he'd never taken that extra step, the additional bit of effort to say that he _really wanted_ to know. It was so lovely. But she would need a little time to get used to it, just as she had needed time to adjust to his sweet endearments, and his delicacy in lovemaking when they were first married. She had been so unused to anyone considering her feelings or desires.

The realisation hit her that perhaps she might have been complicit in letting the marriage falter. Anthony was a very gentle, loving man, she knew, but he was also plagued by a lack of confidence, unsure of himself. He may have taken her withdrawal in recent weeks as a rejection of him as a husband… _as a man. I've been feeling sorry for myself and ignoring his needs. Well, not any more!_

She gathered up the sheets of paper and began dressing for dinner.

* * *

…

Meanwhile, in Anthony's dressing room, Stewart was beginning to wonder who would snap first, him or Sir Anthony.

"Please, Sir, just relax your left arm, and then I'm sure I will be able to manoeuvre the right arm into the correct position."

"This is ridiculous, Stewart. She's just going to laugh at me. _I'm_ laughing at me! If you weren't so good at your job, I expect _you'd_ be laughing at me. What an idiot I was to imagine that this would work."

"You're getting uptight again, Sir. These sorts of clothes don't just sit upon the body: they _adorn_ it. You have to feel comfortable in them for them to look right."

"Well that's just not going to happen, is it?"

Stewart's look of despondent failure forced Anthony to admit that he was letting his nerves get in the way.

"Look, Stewart, let's go back to white tie for dinner, and we'll try again before retiring, when I'm relaxed again. Would that suit you?"

"I'm sure you will find the clothes effective in pursuit of your aim, Sir, and the little extra exertion worthwhile."

"Thank you, Stewart. You're a good man."

"I do my best to give satisfaction, Sir Anthony."

* * *

…

Dinner was remarkably convivial. Anthony was attentive and appreciative of his wife. Edith gave him all the encouragement that her small experience allowed. She felt like she must be overstepping the mark and behaving in a less than ladylike manner, but Anthony gave her no indication that he thought that the case, and gradually moved up a gear himself. When the meal was finished he pulled her chair out for her, as he always did, but then caught her hand and kissed it, causing her to gasp. Coffee in the library spilled over into the promised discussion concerning next year's crop rotation.

It was Anthony who suggested going up to bed a little earlier than usual. Meaningful glances were exchanged when parting at the top of the stairs to go to their respective dressing rooms. Edith hurried, eager to see if Anthony meant to…if he meant to. She was sitting on the bed in a flurry of silly nerves and anticipation when the door was flung open.

There, on the threshold, stood Sir Anthony Strallan dressed as a highwayman: white silk shirt with a lace jabot, long embroidered waistcoat, velvet frock coat, tight black breeches, stockings, patent leather shoes with silver buckles, and a tricorn hat upon his head.

He looked really, really embarrassed.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Dedicated to Lady Spotted Horse with much love and affection and hoping that she's feeling better very soon._**

 ** _And apologies for the delay. I think we all rather exhausted ourselves over Andith Fest...but many, many thanks to everyone who has left a review. I am so pleased you have enjoyed this little romp._**

 ** _This chapter moves up a notch to M..._**

* * *

 _Edith was sitting on the bed in a flurry of silly nerves and anticipation when the door was flung open._

 _There, on the threshold, stood Sir Anthony Strallan dressed as a highwayman: white silk shirt with a lace jabot, long embroidered waistcoat, velvet frock coat, tight black breeches, stockings, patent leather shoes with silver buckles, and a tricorn hat upon his head. He looked really, really embarrassed._

…

Anthony didn't move. He seemed frozen to the spot with shame...until he suddenly lurched into the bedroom as though he had been pushed from behind. He scowled over his shoulder briefly as the open door was seized by a hand that looked suspiciously like Stewart's and was quickly shut before the baronet could escape.

He turned to his wife. Edith's puzzled expression jerked him back to the plan. He squared his broad shoulders and drew himself up to his full height.

"My lady!" he exclaimed taking a few steps towards her, "my love, my darling! At last we are alone!"

"Wha..?"

Anthony dropped to his knees in front of her.

"My sweet one! My own!" And that was the end of his prepared 'speech'. He paused. From now on, he'd have to improvise. As a result his mask fell, revealing the awkwardly expressed heart of Sir Anthony Strallan, twentieth-century baronet, rather than what Anthony thought an eighteenth-century highwayman-Earl might say.

"My sweet one! My own. You are my entire life, Lady Edith. When I'm with you I feel…I feel full of love…no, I feel _overflowing_ with love. I would do anything to bring you happiness."

"Then, for goodness' sake, get up and stop play acting!" she wailed turning from him annoyed, and feeling guilty for feeling annoyed because he was obviously doing his best.

This wasn't the reception Anthony had hoped for. But he did as she asked and rose from the rug, standing quietly, waiting respectfully. Very soon she faced him once more.

"I think it's about time we talked about _The Black Moth_. I knew I'd upset you by reading that book, but I hadn't realised how much. I'm sorry."

"You didn't upset me, not at all. I…I just knew something about it meant rather a lot to you, that it was fulfilling a need, a need that was probably something that _I_ should be able to fulfil for you…as a husband…and that I'm not doing it...or can't." He took his tricorn hat off as he spoke. "I thought perhaps that need was a desire for excitement…or escapism. That's why I am dressed...well, like this. But I see now that it's something else. Am I right?" he asked gently.

"Yes…and no." She couldn't face looking him in the eye. She had brought about all this misunderstanding by reading that wretched book.

"I'm sorry; I don't know what you mean. What else could it be?" he prompted, hoping for some clues out of the situation he had caused by his fancy dress...and by his failings. But she looked at him with sad affection and sighed.

"You are a very good husband, Anthony. I have no complaints. Let's just go to bed and forget all about it, shall we?" She smiled at him as best she could.

There might be some areas of human relationships and emotions that Anthony had had no clue about prior to this week due to his Victorian upbringing and an unsatisfactory first marriage. But he was not stupid. He knew when someone was hiding something. He needed to know what he was missing, to make his wife as happy as she deserved to be. As she walked past him to her side of the bed, he seized her carefully but firmly around the waist. He kept his voice controlled but commanding.

"No."

"Anthony?"

"No. I will not allow you to let me get away with whatever is hurting you. I cannot bear to think that I'm not giving you the life you really want. Because it's hurting me too, do you see, to know you're so sad? What am I doing wrong? Or is it something I'm not doing that I should be? Edith, I beg you, tell me."

"Anthony, please, it really doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does matter. _It matters very much_. I do not want our marriage to be like they were expected to be in my youth: all hidden feelings and duty and propriety...the wives feeling unfulfilled and caged, and the husbands getting away with anything they desired because society told them they were entitled to it. Edith, you are _my wife_! I thank Providence every day for it! I want you to be happy! And I have come to realise from reading _The Black Moth_ and...and other more informative works...that there are more dimensions to a healthy relationship than I was ever led to believe before, although from my own experience I suspected...I had _hoped_ that there would be." He paused to get his breath. "I thought you would be happy that I want to honour your feelings and desires. I did not expect you to feel that you had to sweep your desires under the carpet to keep the peace like this. Is that your automatic reaction...caused by how you used to be treated at Downton? Or am I so dictatorial that you feel like that?"

"No! That's not it at all. It's just that...you see...well, to tell you the truth…"

"Please do, Edith, that's precisely what I wish."

"... I have realised that I find talking about these things difficult, perhaps even more so than you...because girls are trained to be modest to such a silly extent." She looked up at him and drew courage from those ridiculously blue eyes. "But I am willing to try if you are."

"I so want that: to be able to talk about these things, at the very least. And it'll be a good start if we decide to go any further" he smiled...with a tiny, hopeful twinkle in his eye.

That remark slightly concerned her...and reminded her of something else he'd said.

"You've read _The Black Moth?_ "

"Yes. I went to Ripon to buy a copy so as to avoid tittle-tattle in the village."

"What else have you read, Anthony, that has given you such insights into a woman's desires?"

"I hope I have always been sensitive and caring...but recently...well, um, Stewart took me to see _The Sheikh_ , which was more alarming than instructive…"

This prompted an image in Edith's mind of Anthony at the flicks, and she couldn't help the little giggle that escaped her. But she stopped very quickly when she saw her husband's pained expression.

"I expect so. I think you were brave to go at all. Go on."

"But the book I've been reading most recently has been amazingly instructive. It's by a Dr Stopes, and…"

Now Edith didn't even try to hide her astonishment. Her husband...prim, proper Sir Anthony Strallan was reading...

" _Married Love_? You're reading _Married Love_?!"

"Yes" he replied defensively. "Having read it, I believe it to be a huge stride forward; such welcome progress in loving relationships and society as a whole. It merely tells the layman willing to learn what academics in this area have known for years! It does not deserve the denigration it has received. And as for America banning it, well…"

Edith couldn't think of a moment when she had loved him more. He was not tethered by convention, even when he upheld it. His actions and behaviour were dictated by his own freethinking and strong sense of justice and compassion. He did not break convention for it's own sake, but was not afraid to do so when he thought is necessary or advantageous.

Typically, he misinterpreted her look of admiration.

"You...you think less of me for reading it?" he asked haltingly.

"God, no! I think you're amazing, Anthony. Truly."

"Really? Do you really?" She could see a modest pride swelling his chest.

She sat down on the bed, bringing him with her.

"Tell me what you found most revealing."

"Lots of things...but I suppose what gave me most joy and hope was discovering I was not alone in believing that insisting on ludicrous standards of formality and propriety in a marriage is a recipe for disaster...that men and women in love really _should_ share their inner lives with one another, and encourage each other's pursuits, in order to nurture a strong bond. And that they should share anything of their inner lives that they want to."

He looked closely for any sign that he'd gone too far.

"True intimacy." She looked up at him.

"Yes. Does that...appall you?"

"Of course not. That's exactly what I have been feeling we are missing. You won't even talk to me about your undergraduate memories, let alone...any more physical preferences!"

He flushed slightly at that.

"Only because...because...well, talking about my youth makes me feel old, and I don't like to be reminded of that fact. I don't like to remind _you_ of that fact either!"

"Oh darling, how can I convince you that I don't see you as an age" Edith whispered fondly, "I only see the man, the breathtakingly handsome and amazingly wonderful man I married."

Anthony blushed. "That's very nice of you to say. I...I would be a hypocrite if I asked you to work with me on our marriage, to talk to me more about your needs, and then didn't discuss parts of my life that interest you. Tomorrow, we will go through a few photographs, I'll tell you what King's was like, and you can ask me any questions you wish, and I shall answer them."

"Thank you, Anthony." She made to rise, but he held her arm.

"Now, my dear, sauce for the goose...I know you have been working industriously at something. I also know you read quite quickly. So whatever you've been doing in your day room, it hasn't just been reading Miss Heyer."

In the space of a few moments, Edith turned from a confident modern woman discussing her marriage with her husband, to a rabbit of a girl being scolded by her grandmother. But Anthony was learning what to do for best. He slipped his arm around her waist once more.

"I want to know because I know it is bound to be charming and admirable, my dear. I am not going to frown."

"I...I enjoyed reading _The Black Moth_ , but I thought there were too many artificial plot devices, too many two-dimensional characters. I wanted to see if it was possible to write in Miss Heyer's style, in that genre, and challenge oneself to make the story and people more realistic. That's all."

"You...you're writing a novel?" His eyes glowed with pride and excitement. "May I read it?"

"Oh goodness...it isn't finished…"

"When it's finished to your satisfaction, then? Before we send it to the publishers."

"WHAT?!"

"I'm sure it will be good enough, my darling...but we'll leave that up to you, of course."

She calmed a little.

"Yes, well, all right."

With that, Anthony thought it best to leave the discussion at that successful point. He stood to leave.

"Now, my sweet one, I ought to find Stewart to help me get out of these confounded clothes. The shirt is so figure-hugging that my arm causes problems...and…"

This was her chance for a delectable revenge, and she seized it wholeheartedly.

"Oh no, I don't think so, Sir Anthony!" She rose from the bed less like an English lady, and more like a panther stalking prey. "If you have any need of assistance, I think I should provide it...in light of our discussion." She looked him up and down appraisingly. Anthony's eyes widened, but he licked his lips unconsciously.

"Really?" he squeaked. "Um...yes...perhaps."

"Definitely." She ran her fingers over his broad velvet-clad shoulders, and sighed deeply.

"Where...to...begin…?" she breathed. She smoothed her hands under his frock coat, then eased it down his arms at an unnecessarily slow pace. She did the same, even slower, with the waistcoat. When she flicked her eyes up to his, they were several shades darker. Suddenly his breeches felt rather too small for him. He was struck dumb. When he had been putting these clothes on after dinner he had thought that, if everything went well tonight, at the very best he might possibly get to make love to his wife playing the part of Miss Diana Beauleigh, pleasing her while playing his own (improbable) persona. What appeared to have happened, to his astonishment, was that they had taken their already happy marriage to another, higher level, with the promise of so much more, and he was being seduced by his wife in the guise of...well, _his wife_ , with no charade, albeit a different side to her that he had only glimpsed before.

Well, if she was brave enough to reveal some of her desires, it was only fair that he did the same.

As Edith began working out how to deal with the troublesome shirt, he murmured "Rip it!"

She looked up in surprise. She was more surprised, and delighted, and a bit frightened by what she saw in Anthony's look...more confidence than usual...and, was that unhidden lust? Raw lust! That look travelled from his eyes to hers and then directly to her core bypassing her brain completely.

"Really?"

"Rip. It." he repeated. So she did.

That simple action of rebellion against propriety had an effect of psychological release for them both. Anthony grabbed his woman around her body and lifted her so her torso balanced on his chest. Edith giggled her delight. He carried her to the bed, where Anthony in a feat of strength threw her down on the sheets, following himself a moment later. He seized her mouth with his own in a blazing kiss, then seared his kisses down her jaw and neck to where her nightdress protected his targets.

He knelt above her. "Come. Undress me." No 'please' or any other pleasantry as he usually would. He let his voice express his request: demanding, adoring.

With fingers shaking a little, Edith sat up and did as she was bid. She divested him of the ripped shirt, pushed him playfully onto the bed to take the breeches, stockings, and shoes. And gasped at the size of his potency. Then she sat back.

"My turn, I believe." Her words were at odds with her quivering voice.

Anthony took the hem of her gown and lifted it over her head, with a reverence that would shame the most pious priest unveiling the Holy Grail. Casting the cloth aside he gazed intently into her eyes ignoring her other assets now on display quite deliberately, convincing her that his ardour was not all lust. He raised his hand, and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. He gasped "I love you, Edith. Dear God, I am breathless with love." He bent down to worship her body, signalling the end of conscious thought for them both.

During their wedding night, Anthony had thought that he would not, _could_ not ever be so happy again. He had been wrong. Their shared acknowledgement that their marriage could be worked at, deepened, and made more satisfying for them both had brought them together so, and in a strange, almost mystical place.

Where before he might have tried to guess what she liked, now he would try but also ask whether it pleased her. She too had found a new feeling of quiet assurance in asking him if he liked it when she stroked his chest or nibbled his earlobes. And the more she discovered what he did like, the more she felt powerfully in control of what she did, taking the initiative and contributing to their shared pleasure in each other. No longer would she be a passive partner for fear of what her husband would think of her if she did anything more.

They were both aware that they had only just begun on this journey of discovery. They were excited at what lay ahead, and took each new step slowly, enjoying what it had to offer. Consequently, their lovemaking took much longer than usual, and when their joint bliss overtook them, together, it was higher, and more intense than ever before. Anthony moved to one side after how many minutes he didn't know and couldn't care less to count. Edith cuddled into his side, utterly content. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, Anthony's sudden bark of a laugh startled her.

"What? What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing my darling. I'm sorry I disturbed you. It's just…"

"Go on."

"The morning after I saw you reading the book, I couldn't for the life of me think of anything comforting or constructive to say. I tried out all kinds of comments in my head, but nothing felt right. I almost said to you 'Would it help if I dressed as a highwayman and rescued you from leering Dukes before ravishing you?' Which I thought was totally ludicrous at the time. But I actually have, haven't I? I dressed up as a highwayman and ravished you. My happiness is complete!"

"This is a marriage of equals, yes? So it would be truer to say that we ravished each other."

He rolled over to face her.

"You, my sweet one, are right, as always. I share everything I have, and everything I am, with thee."

"And I with thee, darling Anthony."

"Thank you."

"Including sleep?" she yawned gently.

"Especially sleep" he answered, settling her head against his chest, where she could hear his heart.


End file.
